Grim Girl Second Edition
by AnencephalousWriter
Summary: This is my second attempt at Grim Girl. I don't know if it is any better than the former in terms of writing, but I have everything planned out now so I am pretty happy with it. It is about the life of a girl going through Shinigami Academy. However, girls don't usually go through Shinigami Academy for lots of reasons. Therefore, crossdressing. Gender-bender with a deathly twist.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji.**

 **Warning: Gore and swearing in smallish amounts.**

I look wildly around the room, everything is drenched in blood. The organs of my brothers are splattered on the wall, in a configuration of death and disgust. Bile chokes my throat, and chilly shivers race up and down my arms. I can feel a sort of coldness, a sort of shock send deep, gasping breaths through me. Tears fall out of my eyes uncontrollably, thick and hot and wet, streaming, blurring everything. The blur hopes to hide reality from me, but it is too late. The images are burned into my mind forevermore. The dying screams erupting from Joseph's mouth, his pleading, clinging gaze. So much pain, there was just so much pain in his eyes. He was ripped apart, pieces of him flew everywhere.  
Pieces.  
Human.  
Flesh.

The words swim around a haze inside me, not quite falling into place. They bash against each other, trying to get some sort of reaction. But still my only defence is disbelief. Everything about reality has always felt disjointed, surreal. But now I can barely keep ahold of my own name. I clutch my head in my hands, my throat is so tight, my stomach is knotted into a thousand shapes. My heart is beating, a weak, shuddering drum.  
But I feel nothing.  
Nothing beyond physical reaction.

I look up, entrenched in habitually feigned despair. I see it, it's freezing black orbs, staring into my soul like it knows. I hold up my hand in horror, seeing that it is covered in blood. The blood of Joseph, the blood of Timothy. Sweet sweet Timothy. How can you be reduced to this? How can this be? You are a person, a being, so full of light, of life. So vibrant and joyful. There is absolutely no way it is possible for you to only be a complex organism. A thing able to live and die in one breath. There's no way.

I rock back and forth, the beast is still there. It is in the shadows, vaguely amused by my reaction. I lift my hand to wipe away my tears. I push away the terror, not completely. It is a darkness that hangs over me without any chance of stopping. I raise my gaze to match its own.

"Does this make you feel validated?" I ask, with a cracked, tired voice. It cocks its head in surprise. A sly grin spreading across its face. It hadn't expected me to speak. From its throat came a deep, rasping voice.

"Of course." I nodded.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

"Of course."

"Well I won't let you." I said, my voice cold and hard and stronger than it had ever been. He raised a single eyebrow.

"You intend to fight me, human?" I gave him a wan smile, filled with just the right amount of condescension. It was a thin lipped smile, a fake smile. It was with this smile that I took the kitchen knife and pointed it at him. My meaning was absolutely clear. He smirked, his talons shooting out. He was ready to kill me. Then, as strong and as weak as I had ever been...

I whirled the knife around and stabbed it into my chest. I gave a dry laugh, pained and lacking in its mirth. My mind scrabbled around in an attempt to secure some elegant last words. Something to lend grace to my death.  
"You know you're an asshole right?" Nailed it. The crow-like beast chuckled, and flew away. Leaving me to die in a pool of my own blood. Will others think I'm too human to die as well?

I will never know.

 _Asshole._

The world is a fragmented collection of light and colour, bursting out at me from all sides. Everything is stream of concepts and shapes and I fight. I fight to stay different from all of it. But very soon I lose the urge to fight. Maybe I _am_ just a concept, an idea. Maybe I can melt into the river and it will be all okay. Maybe everything will be okay if I just let myself go nowhere.

A sudden, jolting stop. I guess losing myself wasn't a choice. The world feels sort of fuzzy. I suppose I am dead, however, I feel very much alive. Which is to say, my chest hurts like a bitch. My eyes crack open, one after the other because it's just so hard to pull them apart. I look around swiftly as possible, even though my head feels like it is attached to my neck by a rusty screw. I am sitting on white concrete. There are tall, white buildings all around me. They are symmetrical and seem to go on forever. Never before had I seen something quite like this. I remember the unforgiving, dirty alleyways of London and sigh. Everything just feels so alien and I have no idea what in gods name is going on and oh my god they're dead. They're all dead. My chest is healing up at an incredible rate. The tissue seems to be stitching itself together. My head feels heavy and somehow cold. I can't move my body. Very soon a crowd of darkly dressed people develops around me. There is whispering, I can make out some of the words.

"A new recruit at this hour?"

"Is that even a boy?"

"It has to be, stupid."

"Why didn't he show up in the recruiting time-slot?" Then, in a shivering wave of whispers I hear.

"Take him to the principal." I am picked up, and taken away by a strange man in a strange black suit with strange eyes and strange glasses. The time after that is odd, a forward moping almost. Walking through the path surrounded by replicated buildings. The crowds around me begin to lessen as we walk further away, until it is only the one carrying me there. Apparently whatever interesting thing I did was not interesting enough to warrant quite this much walking. Speaking of exercise, I am surprised the man carrying me is not yet puffed. I can feel his muscles as I lie, limp in his arms. I can't seem to move any of my limbs. My neck can turn a little bit, but my jaw is stiff. That's the most disappointing one. Asking questions usually gets you answers. Eventually we come to stop in front of a building. Not a white, rectangular building like the others. In fact, this the only one I can see that is at all different. It is, strangely enough, a rich purple. And it's more of a house than anything. It has a thatched straw roof, so out of place among the strange cleanliness. Despite its peculiar demeanour, I feel more comfortable here than anywhere else. It more closely matches the streets of home. I mean, of course it is still very clean, and of course it is rather different than what I am used to. But compared to the towering white rectangles, it just has a nice feeling of unpredictability. I am brought inside, it smells of musk and flowers, along with the inexplicable scent of burnt toffee. I can hear shouting over in another room of this place. The sharp, resonating consonants shock me out of my, well, shock. Suddenly I am incredibly frightened. What the hell am I doing here, what is going on! Images of my dead family flash behind my now shut tight eyelids. The man carrying me waits patiently. Once the shouting goes on too long, he knocks on the door. The quick, hard rapping on the wood sounds very controlled and strong. I'll have to keep an eye on this one, he seems dangerous. It may seem silly to judge this from how someone knocks on the door, but I have seen more obscure ways to judge someone's strength. That's why I always faked weakness in everything I do. My knocks are always weak and pitiful, my head down, my steps hesitant, if not soft. Then, once I have you fooled, I pounce. The shouting from behind the door stills. The door cracked opened and a man with silver hair pokes out his head.

"Hello!" He exclaims, smiling with psychotic joy. Just then a young boy pushes past him. The silver-haired man, with locks covering his eyes, grabs him, and pulls him back. He shakes his head regretfully.

"Let me go!"

"No no no Stuart. If I am judging the new situation properly, and I am, your assistance will be required." The man turned to him. "Andy, what happened?"

"He just turned up in the middle of the path, an hour late."

"How many people saw?"

"Thirty, maybe thirty-five. I'm sure the news will have spread a great deal by now." My jaw was still very stiff, but I was starting to regain control of it just ever so slightly. I moaned and the man called Andy looked down on me in horror. Stuart raised an eyebrow.

"He isn't supposed to regain the ability to make any sound yet. This is just like last time." The silver-haired man sighed. All kinds of joy and silliness had left him. His mouth was composed into one long, thin line. He seemed to be a different person. I had no idea what was going on, and in an attempt to distract myself from flashing images of death, I observed my surroundings. That may have backfired slightly

The walls were painted with murals, mostly of women. They all had their mouths open in one long, silent scream. Their nails were prominently black, showing up against the redness of everything else. Blood poured down them, sickly sensual. The windows were draped over, blocking the light with thick, knitted curtains. There were coffins all over the place, and the boy from before- Stuart, was sitting on one, impatient, and, I thought, slightly nervous. It was obvious he was trying to hide it, he was draped in bluff as surely as the curtains draped the windows. And just like the curtains, there were little holes in the fabric. And so his anxiety shined through. He needed to learn how to act better, I had been acting my whole life. I can tell these things from even the smallest detail. I noticed that everyone had the same eyes. Apart from the sliver-haired man, well he might. There no way to tell with that fringe. Their eyes were all chartreuse, acidic and vibrant. My jaw loosened slightly, and I was able to move it up and down sort of. Stuart broke the tense silence.

"Well obviously this is a dangerous situation, but what do you need me here for?" The man, I decided to dub him Silver, looked at him and smiled grimly.

"You need to keep _her_ secret." Stuart opened his mouth in horror. His eyes widened just a little bit.

" _Her_? But that's impossible, she would be dead, this is-this is-"

"A special case?"

"Shit." My tongue was a lump of flesh, but I could sort of move it. I forced out a few, muddled words.

"Whuuts hupuning?" I was groggy and afraid. They all looked at me, terrified.

"He- She's already speaking? That isn't supposed to happen for at least two days!" Andy said in shock and fear. I felt as if I could cut the tension in the room with a knife. The boy spoke up. His voice was cold and emotionless.

"We can't let her live. You know what happened last time." Silver and Andy looked over at me, seeming unsure. I opened my eyes wider. My lips pulled into a pleading grimace. Most of this was natural, but I added extra effect. After all, my own desire to live is not nearly large enough for me to be so pitiful. Andy and Stuart looked to Silver. He pulled up his fringe, and underneath I saw a surprisingly beautiful man. He seemed light, and friendly. His eyes danced. But beneath that there was an undertone of death. A grim, tight feeling. This man would kill me if he needed to. Climbing across his face was an ugly scar, puckered and red. Somehow it seemed to not detract from his beauty, but instead just add character to it. For some reason the scar made him more approachable, more human. Maybe it was just because I was so used to seeing scars, and mutilation. Some of my best friends lacked a limb. However, I must say that when someone is dear to you, their mutilation is so much harder to handle. In fact, you don't handle it at all. It just is. This man was not dear to me. And his scar let me know he wasn't invincible. I think that may be all there is to it. While looking up into the faces of these three strange people, I realised something about myself. Something that I had never even thought of noticing before.

I didn't want to die.

I didn't want to disappear.

This was something that might of been good to consider before I killed myself. I suppose in that situation I would have died anyway, perhaps it was best to do it on my own terms. Or maybe it just didn't make a difference. It hardly mattered now. I was evidently not dead, not in any kind of way I expected. You know, that might be a good question to ask.

"Am I dead?" I was quite happy with my articulation this time. Last time it sounded as if a drunken snail had written slurred, slimy passages for me to read. Stuart burst into a stressed, cutting child.

"Do you feel dead? imbecile." I narrowed my eyes.

"Hey, I just didn't want to knock the afterlife idea, I admit I was pretty sceptical, but it's great to hear that I'm not quite dead. By the way… What the fuck is going on?" Andy coughed, it sounded like he was trying to cover up a laugh. Stuart shot him a look, as if to say that this was not a laughing situation. And it probably wasn't, if anything about the conversation before holds true. "So, yeah. I'm incredibly traumatised, my family is dead. Oh fuck, that. Um, yeah I don't know what the bloody hell is going on. And you guys are confusing the shit out me. Can someone please explain in clear, concise, perhaps even paragraphed sentences?" Stuart rolled his eyes.

"You are an hour late, and you have regained the ability to speak very quickly. This has only happened once before-" I interrupted.

"And that last guy must of been a dick right?"

"I'm explaining! You said you wanted things explained so don't interrupt!" He took a deep breath before continuing. "The last person who did this showed exactly the same things as you. He came an hour late, showing up on a path between the different buildings. He regained his ability to speak and move much more quickly than you are supposed to. He was a nice man, well more a boy at that stage. Everybody really liked him and they thought he was just a weird case. He seemed fairly normal after all." His tone darkened. "And then, it happened." He sighed, running a hand through his black locks. "He developed this hatred of humans, I don't know why, it may relate to his initial suicide. He decided that no humans were worthy of staying alive. Most people didn't notice it at first, but every single one of his cases was marked completed, allowing the human to die each time. It's normal for that to happen, but after a while it was starting to get suspicious. After all, it had been a few years, and in that time, usually you'll find at least one human worth sparing. No one thought anything of it though. Until he took the next step." Stuart locked eyes with me. "He decided that not only did no humans deserve to live but… That they all deserved to die." He looked down, seeming to be remembering. "He started the bubonic plague." Stuart said very softly. "I imagine you will have heard of it." My throat had closed up. It was the plague. That was the plague he was talking about.

This man he was speaking of had started the bubonic plague. I was shocked, I had always assumed it was just people's bad hygiene habits.

"But that was so long ago… Surely you can't think I'm the same?" Stuart smiled dryly.

"Shinigami live for a long time. My father was there, he was good friends with that man."

"But I'm not him! I'm not, oh dear fucking Jesus Christ I want to go home." Then I remembered home. Vomit filled my throat. I swallowed it back down, not wanting to dirty this place. Then I thought, you know what? Screw it. They're planning to kill me, I'll damn well give them a cleaning job. I puked onto the ground. Stuart looked at me with disgust curling his mouth.

"I would never kill a human being." I said resolutely. The silver-haired man chuckled. He seemed to have perked up, which I did not appreciate.

"I'm afraid that doesn't work either, dearie. If you want to become a Shinigami there will be a wee bit of killing. Well, less so killing, more like allowing them to die. But aren't they all one and the same, with labels stuck in to keep faith in your own morality?" Silver looked away, there was sadness in his gaze, masked by a half crazed sort of barrier. Stuart had opened his mouth wide, his jaw was hanging, ready to catch flies.

"Are you suggesting she become a Shinigami!?" Silver smiled wanly,

"What else?"

"But father!" Wait, father? Damn that apple fell far from the tree. Shit, I bet a birdie carried it away.

"I think we should give her a chance. Her eyes are not malicious." Stuart stared daggers at me. And though the words sounded like they were addressing his father, he was glaring right at me. With a cracked voice, he spouted.

"Neither were his." And stormed away. He had obviously been there, no one could deny that. But how? He hardly looked to be hundreds of years old. I could understand if they aged slower but this is just pushing it. Through the circular window on the door, I saw that as he left, another boy joined him. Trailing behind him in a demure manner. Silver rubbed his head and sighed.

"I haven't felt this unamused in a hundred years!" He cocked his head to one side. "But there's always a time for laughter!" I wasn't quite sure about that… His eyes lit up. "Tell me a joke, won't you?" Andy coughed uncomfortably in the background. I didn't know any jokes, in my line of work amusement wasn't important. Intending to be curt and cutting, not to mention humourless, I spoke dryly.

"The economy." Andy snorted, and then attempted to cover it with a cough. Silver seemed rather disappointed. I raised an eyebrow at Andy snorting, and he mistook it for another message, stating.

"The Undertaker is not interested in dry humour." As if I were asking that. It's not as if I were assuming he would laugh, most people wouldn't. I was intentionally trying to be boring. It least I knew what everyone called Silver now. 'The Undertaker' it had a nice ring to it, but I think I preferred Silver. I said, slowly and deliberately.

"Okay, now Stuart did a fairly good job of explaining some history or shit why you guys don't like me, but I really need to also know what is going on. I died, I'm alive, I'm in a weird, white looking place. Pray tell. What the fuck." Andy cleared his throat.

"This is the 'Shinigami Soul Dispatch Society.' Approximately an hour before you appeared was the time when recruits were supposed to stop coming. We have an academy here, where we train new recruits to be Shinigami." I nodded, I understood. I didn't want to understand, but I understood.

"You also mentioned at some point that girls aren't supposed to be here?" A quick intake of breath.

"They aren't."

"Further explanation please?" He nodded.

"Female Shinigami are all born, not made. When a female human commits suicide, she follows the same process as a normal death. This is because if a female ever came here, she would die. For female Shinigami, this place, and also the air in the human world is filled with toxins. These toxins only affect the females and they are made from the releasing of souls. There are some females here, but none of them can be field Shinigami. They have to stay in the buildings that have toxin prevention spaces. Even then, for anyone to interact with them, they have to be sprayed and cleaned a great amount. It's the same for whenever you leave the 'Shinigami Soul Dispatch Society' and go into the normal Shinigami world. You, however, seem to be immune." Silver piped up.

"I couldn't have said it better myself! Also, not all the boys you see here will have once been human. Be sure to watch out for the pure bred Shinigami. They really value themselves above the rest, even though a purebred being here is a mark of their failure. Reaping is a dirty job, intended for the low class converted Shinigami." He smiled. "Not that you are low class, my dear. After all, isn't that all just propaganda?"

"I wouldn't know, Silver." I said, accidentally calling him by the name I had given him in my head. I flinched a little. Ooops. He smiled sort of dazedly.

"Someone else used to call me that." Then he straightened. "Oh yes, and one more thing…" He said, holding up a pair of scissors and a distinctly male looking uniform. I sighed. I should have known.

 **Author's note: Yay, first chapter. Please review, especially with criticism. (Just so long as the criticism targets something I can fix) Not all chapters will be this long probably. I think I may be quite sporadic with chapter size. I think it's a pretty average chapter, all I know is that if it took this much time to write out two sentences of plan, I have along story ahead of me. Fuck. Also sorry if The Undertaker is OOC. I don't know how he would react in this situation so I made him react in a way convenient to the story. (That's a writing no no, I know.) Sorry bro. Bro. Bro. Ima go watch brotown now.**

 **-Anencephalouswriter**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji, just a LOOOTT of OCs. You can totally take them though. It's all good.**

I walk past the purple house where Silver lives. Behind it there's another, large, white building. Andy took me inside, leading me up to the front door. The door was made of glass and metal, in a simple and rather strange design. When we walked up to the door it opened, without us even touching it. I didn't let this faze me, there was probably magic in this world. I kept my expression cool, but some of my feelings must of shown through, because Andy said.

"It's motion sensitive." Ah, he was explaining the spell. How nice. We walk inside, Andy turned to me, and whispered. "Okay, I don't know what The Undertaker is up to, making you a recruit. It would be much simpler to just put you into the normal Shinigami city. But I trust that man and you will not let him down."

"I promise to not go batshit crazy and go on a killing spree." He gave me a look like he was disappointed, probably since it sounded like I wasn't taking it seriously. I wasn't. Giving a deep sigh, a well practiced one I noticed, he led me through the endless, symmetrical and nauseatingly repetitive corridors. I was fully dressed in my male uniform, and my hair had been cut to minimise suspicion. I didn't really mind, I could dig the whole, 'being a boy' thing. I actually felt rather neutral towards the idea of crossdressing. Though I thought it would get rather tiring. We came to a halt, in front of a door with writing on it. I turned to Andy, smiling almost grimly. This was a school type place, and I was about to reveal a complication. "So… What does that say?" He looked exasperated, but used to this sort of thing.

"You're illiterate?"

"Born and raised in the streets of London, old chap."

"It says room number three-hundred and sixty six. I will persuade Stuart to give you lessons in reading as well. If he refuses I'm sure Chandler will step up to take on the job." I nodded, still reeling from the events of the past… Hour? Couple hours?

"I best take my leave. I promise to soon fall out of a state of shock, and leave myself sobbing, and crying out blasphemy and profanity on the floor." He looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but had the sense not to. With a grunt of affirmation, he left me to my own devices.

I took a deep breath, and opened the door. Inside, I saw Stuart and that other boy who followed him before. They had their heads together in close conversation. But their hurried, flustered gaze was not what I paid attention to.

The room was ginormous. I looked out and saw couches and soft pillows, all perfect for sleeping on. The floor was clad in black tile, and there was a massive window in front of it all. It looked out on the endless white buildings. My jaw dropped in shock, we were so high! I did not recall climbing this high. That was part of the magic. The glass for the window was incredibly finely crafted, I saw nary a crack nor discrepancy in its vast, somehow even form. So I did what any person raised in the dirt of London would do. I ran forward, jumping onto the closest sofa, sinking into its softness.

"Dibs. I want to sleep here. So much dibs." The small bit of colour left Stuart's cheeks, and he turned his face to an angle most condescending.

"That isn't the bed you moron. This-" he gestured to the open space, "is the sitting room!" I paid barely any attention, still lying on the lovely surface. I stiffened, not because of what he said, but because of my own realisation. I'm going to be living in such a massive place, even bigger considering this is only the sitting room. We have a sitting room, for one thing, and that's a first for me. I draw into myself, position foetal. I'm so far from home. And though home isn't where I want to be, it's just, it's just… Tears are coming from me now. I don't try to stop them. I look to the side, and even Stuart looks hesitant about what to do. The boy beside him, he comes up to me. His gaze is as melancholy and deep as a forgotten well. He seems dull and somehow soulless. Then he smiles, it is not a happy smile, not a cheer. It is an ironic smile, a somehow comforting smile. It is a relatable smile. And I can see the black fires in his eyes start to flicker. He says, his voice mellow and resolute.

"You will be, okay..." I look up at his stringent, clinging stare. And I am also aware. We share a moment of knowledge, outside of time, beyond reality. My tears have dried, my mouth forms a perfect O. He looks up, sad and strong. His sharp chin juts away from me, and his overhanging hair, a strange, dark red, almost black, hides his eyes. He had let me see them before, and I knew that was an opportunity given to few. I didn't know how I knew, it was rare for me to know why or how my mind did something. I looked at him and said, softly.

"Thanks." Then I picked myself up and stood, not knowing what to do. He pointed to a door. I was really thankful because I need to make a dramatic exit and if I went through a random door, I could go into a closet or some else's room. So, holding my chin high, I walked through the door he had gestured to and I sat down in the bed, a real bed. It was far more comfortable than the sofa. I wondered vacantly if all the rooms in the building were like this. I couldn't fathom that that would be true considering the earlier comment made about the low class status of converted reapers. If that were true I think purebred reapers homes must be very lovely. I feel a sudden wave of despair come upon me. I had been waiting for it, I knew it. I had known this feeling as one of my closest friends. It embraced me, wrapped around me in a cold and metallic manner. It sent deep vibrations into me, the nuances of misery making their way through me. So much had happened, I was so confused. Sorrow dripped out of my eyes and I just couldn't. I just couldn't- I screamed. I screamed again and again like a madwoman, like the devil himself had come into me, throwing me with my crazy, shorn locks rising up and attacking everyone in my land of imagination. I kept making these lurching, uncontrollable sounds. They flew out of my throat in an intermingling cascade of crazed anger and sadness, one that had my face contorted into shapes none too pretty. The raw, human part of me left to roam and shriek to the heavens. The clawing, the tearing. The undeniable, the indubitable knowledge that I was so alone, alone in the strange, painful new place with nothing to guide me, nowhere to go, no way to escape nor desire to. To sum up the situation…

FUCK! I smashed the oil lamp next to me, it hit the ground, shattering instantly. Some of the pieces bounced up and cut me. The fire in it spread quickly over the floor, fed by the oil. I sat in the centre of it all, not caring. Not wanting to live or die or do anything but I was scared, oh so scared of everything and nothing. Someone came into the room. I didn't pay attention to them. The heat left me. I was sad shell of a human- of whatever I was. I saw the fire was doused, the lamp picked up. I started to feel physical pain as well, but I could barely differentiate between that and the turmoil inside me. The little bits of glass were just leaving the floor, carefully lifted by quick hands. Then I started to drift into slumber. There are many escapes to pain, and sleep is one of them. I hoped my mind would force out my pain, send it to another place where there was no darkness. Where it would recede and vanish simply because it failed to exist. If not, then I hoped to die. One would substitute for the other quite nicely. And so I slept.

Morning came, as it always does. I saw no rising sun, heard no bustle and hustle of people approaching the day. But I knew it was morning nonetheless. As I always do. My eyes first opened to the face of someone unknown. But then he became known again as I tripped over the precipice of awakeness.

"Oh, hey Stuart." His face seemed unsure, kind of shocked. He composed it immediately.

"You are calmed?"

"Very." He looked to the side.

"Are you aware that this is not a very good indicator of your mental stability?"

"Oh yeah. Well, I'm not very mentally stable right now."

"We are worried you are a danger to the community."

"Yup." He seemed exasperated.

"Are you going to do anything about that? Defend yourself perhaps?"

"Well I guess. But it's just like, I totally get it, Yunno? I would be wary of myself as well. Obviously I know for a fact I'm not going to be dangerous, but I can't expect you guys to know that." He rubbed his scalp, giving up on the conversation. I was just too much of an idiot for him to deal with. I looked down, and a thought occurred to me. "who changed my clothes? Also, why?"

"You were wounded from the glass."

"But it was just my hands though, right?"

"How did you not notice the piece of glass going into your chest?" He replied with a sort of annoyed shock. I shrugged.

"My mind was on other things?"

"Evidently." He said with slight- disgust? Annoyance? It was impossible to pick apart his tone.

"The question of who changed my clothes still stands." I stated blankly.

"Chandler."

"What?! Weren't we supposed to keep it secret from him?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. Are you implying I could have changed you?"

"Well I would rather not be changed at all! However, if someone has to change me it may as well not be someone who doesn't know about this!"

"Calm down, crazy woman."

"You are an idiot. You are an actual idiot. Oh my god."

"I'm the idiot here?"

"YES!" He looks sideways.

"It wouldn't matter either way, he would find out eventually. Chandler is no idiot."

"Unlike y-"

"Shut up." His gaze is slanted upwards as he looks at me. His eyes are cold. Why is no one friendly here? Why doesn't anyone have a warm gaze? Why don't I have a warm gaze?

Damnit. Suddenly another voice breaks through the silence, a person unnoticed in the background.

"I can currently confirm that the probability of your intellect being below average level resides at approximately twenty-five percent. However, this is taking into account that your current behaviour patterns are likely stress induced. If I were to eliminate that, as Stuart seems to, considering his ignoring of it. Then the probability would rise to approximately sixty-four percent. To conclude, at this time your behaviour is that of an imbecile."

"The fuck you say?" I reply.

"Your confusion as to my mannerisms lets it rise to approximately thirty-percent taking stress into account, and seventy ignoring it."

"Love, I understand it. The fuck you say is a way of expressing my, 'why the hell are you talking like that' feeling."

"Duly noted."

"Well, it's nice to meet you nonetheless. My name is Hunter, which no one has seemed to ask. And you are Chandler?"

"Yes."

"Nice to meet you, or it least nicer than my first encounter with this strange beast." I said, motioning towards Stuart.

"I am glad to increase my social network, Hunter." I suppose that was his way of saying, 'nice to meet you too.' I'll take it. Stuart was fuming in the background after my comment. Stuart spoke up.

"Well that's all very well and good but, you need to prepare now. Classes start tomorrow." He groaned, "I don't think I can take another batch of confused new recruits." I narrowed my eyes.

"Dude. Cut them some slack, I don't know if you have ever died before, but it's pretty traumatic. Not to mention, when you die, you expect to stay dead, you know?"

"I don't."

"You haven't died before? Weird."

"Not having died is not weird."

"What? Dude, literally everybody dies."

"Oh my good lord…" He was so sick of me. But damnit, I was still sort of in shock. I would probably stay sort of in shock for the rest of my time here. Yes, the previous tantrum helped out a bit, but dying is hard to get a grasp on. Chandler removed himself from the background with speech.

"Tomorrow is the time in which your learning experience begins. Please regain your energy."

"I ain't sleeping just yet."

"Isn't, um ain't slang for aren't? If so, your sentence struc-"

"Shut Up Chandler." Me and Stuart spoke in unison. He seemed to retreat into the background space from whence he came. I mentally pushed away from the conversation.

"So, you guys don't think it's weird that I'm a girl right?" Chandler broke in.

"I am perfectly composed, however I have noticed Stuart struggling with an increase of sexual tens-"

"Shut up Chandler." We said again, perfectly synchronized. He shrugged and looked downward.

"Okay, so how do classes work? And am I gonna get a crash course in reading or something because, trust me. I did not have any time for that shit back home." Chandler seemed sort of surprised.

"Well, you needn't worry about that. We have troves of illiterate students swarming in here. Peasantry, as Stuart would say." I raised an eyebrow.

"That's rather disdainful, isn't it Stuart?"

"Most condescending." Agreed Chandler. Stuart was blushing ever so slightly.

"Shut up." He said, looking sheepish. Obviously his viewpoint had changed. Chandler seemed to come to a realisation.

"Oh yes, that one, correct?" I cocked my head to the side.

"What are you talking about?"

"Stuart was in one of those romanticism centered relationships with a peasant." I nodded my head.

"I see. Interesting." Stuart was leaning awkwardly in the corner. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Then he just walked away, into his room. Chandler followed him. They must sleep in the same room. I stepped out onto the floor, in front of the hospital bed and watched the moonlight stream into the room. I basked in its soft, cool glow more readily than the sun. It outlined little bits of dust whooshing through the air. I looked out, seeing no horizon, no vanishing point. Just white buildings that went on forever, smaller and smaller as they were raised higher in my vision. What use could they have for all of those buildings? Did they even use them? I pondered these things as well as the events of today. Or whatever amount of time had been. My eyes felt heavy. Could I really drift off to sleep, in this strange, comfortable, uncomfortable world? If I went to sleep would it all be over? Did I want it to be? Questions burning, eyes burning. Chest tight, and heart hollow, I slipped into my bed. Lost myself in the tears and the silk.

 **Sorry this chapter is shorter than the last one. I sort of bit off more than I could chew when writing it. I think I have to write a whole chapter at once for it to be good, but this was written in sections and sentences. I won't do it again.**


	3. Chapter 3

**This. This is shorter than the other chapters. Chapter size will be sporadic. Soz bruh.**

I felt dread settle deep in the pit of my stomach. Classes started in one day. One. Day. Perhaps some would have been comforted about the seemingly mundane process of school, but as I had never been to one, it just made this experience more real. It was as if doing something I knew to be common but still hadn't done before made it closer to reality. And reality was not where I needed to be right now. Without schedule I had sat in my bed, letting out the occasional scream. Sometimes Chandler taught me how to spell words. It had been a week and I knew the whole alphabet and some spelling. It all seemed a stupid and confusing process. I rubbed my eyes.

It least the bed was comfortable.

It least the air felt clean. Oh so clean. The cleanliness here was godly. I had not seen a speck of dirt where it wasn't supposed to be. Once I accidentally tipped over a potted plant, spilling the soil everywhere. I went to sleep and the next day I found the contents back in the pot, the plant in perfect condition, and the floor spotless. It just wasn't natural here. This place creeped me out. I walked out into the sitting room, and saw that Stuart was there. We looked at each other briefly but found no need to communicate. Then I walked on. I walked out the door, and roamed the halls. I had no idea where the classes were, all through this building it was just numbered rooms. Nothing asymmetrical, nothing out of place. Just endless numbers that I barely knew how to read. On and on, silver, polished shine of conformity. I itched to get out, to see something more than the constant stream of white building after white building. I desired contrast. And so, I did what I always did in that situation. I visited Silver. We had had many talks about many things. Stretching from my position here, to the social inequalities of the human world, to types of tea. I would cosy up on a coffin and watch the screaming walls with merriment. I came into the house again. Soaking up the vibrantly rich purple. But when I went inside there was something different. Yes, Silver was there, as he alway was. But there was someone else there. A small girl, curled into a fetal position. Sleeping. Silver stroked her hair, giggling crazily. Her hair. Her hair was blue. Something about that was strangely familiar. Not familiar in a warm way, a cosy coffin way. But in a cold, hard, strangling way. A pulling, tearing, niggling feel something was off. That my fragile, newly constructed world was about to shatter, shards cascading into the depths of terror. Something was strangely familiar. The girl opened her eyes, and they were a vibrant blue. Something felt wrong about this. I couldn't place it. But her, clouded, sleepy blue eyes were wrong. The girl looked around, wary. She got up, Silver backing off. Then it happened.

The shine of the hanging lamp hit her blue, blue hair. It illuminated it, and I remembered.

Four months prior

The fires swept through my Auntie Marie's house, tongues of flames leaping up and licking everything they saw with destructive prowess. They tore the place apart, incinerating it. I ran from the fire, through the burning, the wailing, through it I ran. There was a ripping, a hot, fleshy ripping. My throat whooshed and sighed. But I could not scream. I could not scream. I could only whoosh, and puff, and rasp with terror. The fire had a terrible beauty to it. All it wanted was to take, take, take. It wanted to consume everything given the chance. It wanted to consume me.

Then I saw him.

He stood, hair shining with a cool blue. Blue. Red. The sickening contrast. The death, the burning. The blue. The red. I thought. "I need to save him, I need to help." I ran up to him.

He turned to me and I became stone. That expression. That faint, bitter smile. That strange eye. Set in the face of a young boy who had seen too much. He was not scared. He was not sad. He seemed to be perpetually jaded. He spoke a few words. Heavy, scary words.

"Sorry about your Aunt." He smiled with sad mirth. Just as I was about to fix my dumbstruck expression and just fix- just somehow fix everything. A blurred shadow whisked him away. I thought I caught a flash of red in the shadow. I was not sure.

I lay down and wept.

Present time

I found myself rocking back and forth, curled up in terror. That hair. That terrible, beautiful hair. Did she- no, he have the eye? I had to see. I had to see. I turned to look and found the boy- wait, girl? watching me rather curiously. I sighed in broken relief when I saw two, perfectly blue eyes. My heart was beating like a drum and they seemed somehow concerned. They were concerned. They were kind. They were nothing like the child-monster I knew. So I relaxed and accepted a cup of tea that was for some reason in a beaker. I still couldn't get rid of that feel though. That fear, the jagged fear. I turned to him, and there was shudder in my voice.

"What's your name, and are you a boy?" He looked up thoughtfully. Then sideways fearfully.

"Of course I'm a boy!" He said rather indignantly

"Sorry! Also, what's your name?" Still looking annoyed, he tried to answer. But only panic came to his fragile features.

"I don't know. Why- why don't I know?" I looked to Silver. He only shrugged.

"Beats me!" I rolled my eyes.

"Lots of help there Silver."

"Your name's Silver?" The boy questioned. Silver smiled, baring his teeth.

"No, but you can call me Undertaker." He looked to the side, biting his lip like he knew a really good joke we had no idea about. "Or something like that…" He trailed off, fiddling with his long fingernails. The boy nodded.

"That feels right." I clapped my hands together.

"Well then, until you can remember your name, we really have to give you one." Silver nodded along with me. The blue haired boy hesitantly agreed.

"How about Giggles, or Poffy, or Snappabacka, or George?" (Silver, not me.)

"George sounds good!" I said. Silver looked at me strangely.

"That was the worst one out of the bunch." Bluenette cut in.

"I'll take it." Well it least it wasn't Snappabacka. Silver sighed.

"Such a dull name…" I rolled my eyes. George spoke up.

"It's an okay name, but it feels somehow… Wrong."

"Well it probably isn't your name, wee chap! But I'm sure you'll remember eventually." George exasperatedly rubbed his head in a manoeuvre that somehow seemed so natural on him. It was strange, considering his age. He must feel exasperated and stressed a lot.

"As long as it isn't Snappabacka…"

"That's the spirit!" And cue his exasperation being directed towards me. I was just so nervous around him, and I was trying to cover up my dread. He just bore such a resemblance to the boy. But no, that boy wasn't as feminine, right? Or was he more feminine… I didn't know, so much of that memory had been blocked with my own pain. He raised his eyebrows now, taking the place in.

"Where the bloody hell am I?" Silver and I only smiled. And I said.

"Close enough." His face had a sort of- oh shit! Expression. I laughed freely.

"I'm just joking! Calm down!" Pulling my smile into myself, I stopped and stared at him with all the seriousness I could muster. "You are in neither heaven nor hell. But you are most certainly dead." The shock drenched into every pore of his face, eye sockets almost becoming gaunt with the unpleasant surprise. It was never easy to find that you were dead.

"No I'm not. Get me away from these crazy people! GET ME AWAY FROM THEM!" Ah... The first stage. Denial. He knew we were speaking the truth, he could feel it. Otherwise he would react like this. If he were alive and someone informed him of his demise, he would calmly and collectedly state them wrong. But no, that was not what was to happen. That was not what was happening. My voice was soft. It breached no delusion of his with its mild tones, gentle reprimanding.

"Who exactly are you calling to?" His face became somehow even paler.

"I don't know." Then he fainted, in front of the fire, the boy we called George fainted. Silver rubbed his eyes, a dangerous game when his nails were 5 centimetres long. (Yeah I use the metric system, like most of the world. Deal with it.) Silver bowed to me suddenly, taking on a strange drawl.

"Well then, my fair lady, I leave him up to you. Be sure to show him round and explain his situation. Don't tell him your true identity, and coax his memories into a place in his mind where he can see them. That shouldn't be too hard, should it?" After this he walked out through a coffin shaped door, which was a pretty cool design feature if I do say so my- that isn't a door. He just- he just walked into a coffin built into the wall. Okay then. You. You do you Silver. You do you. Looking at the child on the floor, I shrugged and hoisted him over my shoulder. He was even lighter than I had expected. I smiled to myself.

"We're gonna have a fun time together Snappabacka!"

I laughed as I walked to my dorm.

 **Authors note: Yeah… I forgot this story existed. SORRRRRRRRY I WILL ATONE WITH MY LIFE! That. That was a foreshadow. I hope. Anyways…. Ciel hanging at the Shinigami academy, holy shit. Isn't it gonna be fun seeing what happens! If you notice any errors or something please tell. I'd rather you tell me then have (gasp) a grammatically incorrect piece of writing! Purely because it pisses me off to read other fanfiction filled with errors. No. Casual language is not an error year 7 English teacher. Thankyou for reading.**

 **-Me**


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